


Let There Be More Light

by anysavagecandance



Series: Season Fifteen (or what you will) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel in the Bunker, Drunken Flirting, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Future Fic, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, all of them in the Bunker actually, also I'm one of the getting-to-be-soft-together addicts so there's some softness too, and a decade of destiel people! confetti it's a parade!, and confident!Cas, and hey mom - apparently I write porn now, but I'm applying for one of those Team Switch memberships, heavy intimacy, human!Cas, like very confident like at home in his own skin confident so this is way way in the future, mixology and cocktail umbrellas make for a great combo, so there's a shifting power dynamic here, there's pining with a side-order of I Want You So Bad Right Now too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysavagecandance/pseuds/anysavagecandance
Summary: Cas has taken bartending classes and is ready to put his newfound skill set to the test. Dean is nonplussed and disgruntled. Cocktails? Thank you, no. It's just difficult to resist when he begins to see the pleasures of having all the reasons to watch Cas showing off behind the bar...(I started writing this before the S13 finale reveal of Dean and his appreciation of tiny cocktail umbrellas, so I take no responsibility for the sudden OOC tinge to Dean in this) (I curse the writers) (with all due respect, of course)





	Let There Be More Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [super-powerful-queen-slayyna (on tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=super-powerful-queen-slayyna+%28on+tumblr%29).



> Hello, lovely Reader! 
> 
> Because Dean behaves averse to the mere idea of cocktails at the start of this fic, I do want to put in a note to say that - as already mentioned in summary parenthesis - I started writing this before the S13 finale. It was thusly begun at a time when Dean Winchester was not canonically prone to stating that he's fond of fucking cocktails with tiny umbrellas. 
> 
> Anyway, this fic wouldn't have seen the light of day if not for a gentle prompt from one of my dear tumblr followers, who enjoyed my tagging of a post and asked if perhaps I wouldn't expand on them, all in good fun, but hey, girl, here we are! This work is dedicated to you, my Queen. :) 
> 
> (the tags were simply me poking fun of the fact that Cas would surely take bartending classes in order to make himself useful in the Dean Cave) (and how Dean would surely be reluctant to the idea of cocktails in the Bunker e.v.e.r) (until tag-Dean wasn't and tag-things started to take a tag-turn for the tag-implied tag-dirty)
> 
> Also, there's no actual bar set up in the Dean Cave in S13, I believe, so the bar of this fic is, to my mind, a later addition to the room, because the decor is ever evolving and bits and pieces will be added on to make it more and more a shared space. Or so I like to imagine. 
> 
> I hope you'll find enjoyment here! 
> 
>  
> 
> [(come say hi on tumblr!)](https://amwritingmeta.tumblr.com)
> 
> *

“What is all this… crap?” Dean asked, incredulous, staring at the assault of bottles and little plastic bags filled with colorful somethings littering his precious bartop. 

“I took a bartending class,” Cas replied, as if that explained it, proceeding with what Dean could only assume was filling the liquor cabinet with want-nots.

Dean frowned at the mere thought, picking up one of the plastic bags for inspection, eyes widening at the sight of the rolled up, but distinctly recognisable, neon colored cocktail umbrellas it contained.

“No,” he said, putting the bag back down, hands held up to the mess before him. “No, no, no, no, _no_ , this bar serves beer, whisky… maybe a little bourbon… it doesn’t need…” He read the labels on the bottles before him, squinting as he continued: “Lime delight or… pink… grapefruit. Cas, what the hell? Where’d you even get the money for all this?”

“Sam,” Cas replied, squatting behind the bar and Dean craned his neck in order to spot the top of his head and give it a glare before turning it on his brother, who only offered a noncommittal shrug.

“He took a bartending class,” Sam then said with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows, tearing the plastic off the DVD he’d bought to add to the steadily growing collection.

He held it up for inspection. _Robocop_. Dean was mildly placated, gnashing his teeth as he turned back to Cas, who’d straightened back up and was organising those maddening little plastic bags, stacking them on the counter, looking as though he was pondering what exactly to do with them.

Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas there absolutely would not be any cocktails served with umbrellas ever in this room, or in this bunker, for that matter, when Sam’s words sunk in somewhat and he was left with an inhaled breath and nothing more to show for it. Instead, he stood observing Cas, who tilted his head at the row of bottles still on the counter, small frown on, deep in thought.

Because he was trying to be supportive.

That’s what Sam had meant, wasn’t it? That Cas had taken a fucking bartending class because Dean had put a bar in this room and Cas wanted to find some way of being a part of that. Right? Fuck. 

So. He exhaled with a huff, deciding to ignore the atrocity Cas was responsible for and focus back on Sam instead. He’d not only bought one, but made a deal for ten DVDs, and the collection was rather impressive, once dug into. Dean made an exaggeratedly happy exclamation at the sight of _What Happens In Vegas_ and Sam smirked, teasing him mildly about his Ashton obsession, Dean shooting back with his surprise that Sam hadn’t gone hunting for Catherine Zeta-Jones merch, Sam responding that he had, but she was sold out, clearly she was more popular than the Kutcher brand, which led to brotherly shoving until Cas said a pointed “Guys” and they calmed down, giving each other one final slap in the chest.

When Dean turned back to the bar, all evidence of mess had been cleared away, but he knew it lingered somewhere beneath the surface, and he had to keep himself from walking behind the counter just to rearrange whatever arrangement Cas had made.

There was one new addition still visible, however, sat atop the mini-fridge. A silvery metal cocktail shaker. Dean shuddered at the mere sight of it. 

*

Cas was leaning over the slim counter on the other side of the bartop, precision measuring the one part vodka meant to go into whatever that thing was he was making in a tall glass that looked so fragile Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it broke in his hand. Dean remained wholly unimpressed with the whole thing. And incredibly distracted. Because it had been a while since he’d seen Cas this deeply focused, and the studied movements of his fingers as he seemed determined to get the recipe right were borderline hypnotic, and the fact that he had a plaid shirt on with the sleeves rolled up and those jeans that had a scuff at the knee from a hunt a few months ago was disconcerting, to say the least. Those were the jeans that hugged his hips just so. For a type of solidly built guy he had surprisingly slender… No. Don’t. Even fucking go there.

Dean tore his eyes off his friend, growing sulky in a way he knew Cas would think had to do with the unwelcome drinks he was preparing, so he could get away with it. Get away with the slow to dissipate fantasy of hooking his fingers in the belt hoops of those jeans and tugging, closing that ever present fucking distance, burying his nose against the skin of Cas’ neck, breathing in a scent that he’d grown familiar with ever since Cas gave up his grace, but that still remained tantalisingly unfamiliar, hitting him over the head with want at the most inopportune times. 

Like if Cas slid forward in the backseat of the Impala to lean his head between the front seats and offer commentary on whatever was being discussed, the sudden rumble of his voice next to Dean’s ear, combined with that familiarly unfamiliar scent hitting his senses, was enough to damn near make him drive Baby into a fucking ditch.

The harsh sound of ice hitting the metal of the shaker brought him out of that memory, watching as Cas slotted the top bit in place, lifting the shaker and beginning to shake it forcefully. 

Dean stared at the muscles of those underarms and the small concentrated frown between Cas’ eyebrows, Dean’s eyes growing round at the insinuation of the care Cas would take with anything needing his full attention. Cas failed to notice, too engrossed in his creating process. Dean closed his mouth when Cas finished, removing the top part and leaning forward again, eyes trained on the glass as he carefully added the contents of the shaker to the yellow whateveritwas.

“So,” Dean said, distracting himself out of thoughts of touching and pulling and owning, “you the confessional type of bartender, or the surly type?”

“What type would you prefer?” Cas asked, eyes watching the red mix he’d added as it tainted the top of the drink a deep crimson while filtering down into distinct swirls in the yellow.

He straightened up, locking eyes with Dean for a brief moment and Dean realised he was in deep trouble when his chest iced with self-conscious desire at that short glance, Cas turning his attention on what he’d just picked up, unfolding a tiny, purple umbrella and sticking it in a pre-cut lemon slice, securing both to the rim of the glass before lifting it up and placing it in front of Dean.

“Sunshine Surprise,” Cas said and for a second Dean thought there was the hint of teasing in his eyes.

Dean found himself staring again, returning to the sulk out of pure self-defence, frowning at the glass with all the suspicion he could muster.

“Yeah, surprise my ass,” he muttered and when the comment produced a broad smile on Cas’ face he reached out for the drink without a second thought, needing something to take the edge off and needing it immediately. 

He took two deep gulps of something bitter and shockingly tasty and realised that there’d be no living with this if he admitted it wasn’t half bad, but locking eyes with Cas again made him feel unable to protect himself by way of dismissal and so, knowing it’d most likely mean at least one or two bartending evenings a week hosted by this menace before him, he breathed out a loud _ah_ in appreciation, licking his lips with a smile as broad as Cas’ earlier, knowing his expression softened even more the second Cas was smiling back at him.

“It’s good,” he offered. “I’ll never be a tiny little umbrella type of guy, but, you know, points for effort.”

Cas smiled crookedly at that, cheek creasing into one of those deep dimples and Dean swallowed, bringing the glass back to his lips and downing it, tapping the bartop once he’d finished.

“Hit me again, barkeep,” he prompted, Cas not looking at him, raising an eyebrow with the hint of another smile on his mouth as he brought out a clean glass, this one a bowl shape. “And you can’t ask me to tell you my type,” Dean added, freezing at the insinuation of the phrasing, but Cas didn’t even pause.

“I didn’t,” he merely said, “I asked what type you’d _prefer_.”

Fucker.

“How about the type that serves beer and whisky?” Dean asked, picking up the tiny umbrella and twirling it between pinched fingers with raised eyebrows, getting a dark glare of warning from Cas to stop mocking the decorations, an expression that went straight to Dean’s groin and produced a cheeky grin to cover up the ache all over.

He capsized the umbrella on the bartop, pointy end sticking up forlornly, and tapped the wood impatiently as his eyes drifted to Cas’ busy fingers, his mind flooding with ideas of all the things those fingers might do, might feel like, the sensations they could produce. 

Dean realised then that he was starting to not give a fuck that he’d fought for months to not think like that while in the same room as Cas. Had fought that battle with himself because it didn’t do anyone even a little bit of good, especially not Dean, to let this attraction get the better of him. All it did was leave behind a simmering frustration that was fucking stupid and turned him into a petty, grumpy, annoyed asshole half the time so it was better not to allow himself to think about getting closer, it was better to push the longing down. And here it was. In all its frustrating glory.

What the fuck was in that drink?

Didn’t matter, a second one was placed in front of him, this one blue and purple and there was ice and a green umbrella, which he gave Cas a pointed look over before removing it and putting it with it’s mate on the counter, having a mouthful of the cocktail, which was tart and fucking awesome. It tasted like blueberries with a hint of lime and fuck. It was like ice cream on a hot summer’s day, like rolling down the window and letting your palm chase the draft of speeding down a long stretch of clear road, like… He tried not to hum, taking another mouthful and deciding to drink this one slower than the first. His nerves feeling steadier anyway. Probably because of the first drink. Fuck. He wasn’t drunk already. Not on one fucking cocktail.

“Sam, get over here,” he prompted, turning around to look at his brother, who was now comfortably seated in one of the La-Z-Boys, busy with his beloved iPad. “Put that thing down. Let Cas fix you a…”

He turned to Cas, eyebrows raised in query of the name of the blue heaven before him and Cas said:

“Paradise Lost.”

Dean’s face fell into an unamused _really?_ He was getting the sincere feeling Cas was fucking with him. There had been a few moments before this where he’d wondered… But then he’d tried to ignore them, because with the mere insinuation that Cas was growing an understanding of innuendo came all sorts of doors opening, and Dean refused to even attempt to walk through them. Trying to get his flirt on with Cas was a no go because it always seemed to end up with Dean self-consciously backtracking and left with nothing but a sense of deep confusion.

Like that one time, a month or so after Cas gave up his grace, when Dean had asked him, casually, if he planned on buying his own clothes ever or if he was just gonna lounge around in hand me downs, which hadn’t even been that flirtatious, or so Dean had thought, but then Cas had smiled without looking at him, coming back with a “Wouldn’t you like to know?” that had made Dean colour pink to the tips of his ears and forced him to go hide in his room, had kept him avoiding Cas for the rest of the day and had ensured him consciously staying away from setting them up for weird, accidental innuendo in the months following. 

Because it had to have been accidental. And pink was definitively not his colour.

Only, now that part of his brain was drowned out by the buzz from Cas smiling at him like that and Dean was so ready to put down his weapons and stop resisting. Fuck was he ready. 

“Let Cas fix you a Blue Hawaii,” he helpfully corrected Cas’ naming of the drink, giving Cas a look to see if he mightn’t actually appreciate the suggestion and Cas - already getting another bowl shaped glass and whatever the blue tinted liquor was - smiled sideways again, glancing at him in confirmation, making Dean feel stupidly validated.

He buried his nose in his drink.

*

“That’s not true, dude,” Sam joined in the laughter, downing the last of his drink and shaking his head as he rose to his feet. “You know that’s not true. I never did that,” he added, reclaiming the La-Z-Boy and his iPad.

“He so did that,” Dean said in a conspiratorial whisper to Cas before turning around on his stool, shaking his head with his eyes resting on his brother. “And off he goes,” he murmured. “You found any more of ‘em?” 

Sam shook his head.

“I had a good lead, but it fizzled out. I don’t know, maybe there _aren’t_ any more,” Sam said, glancing up at them, both Dean and Cas having stilled at this admittance.

Sam had kept mum on his hunt for other legacies, though he’d accepted help on occasion. It was his mission, really, so they didn’t push to join. He was determined to build a network. Taking after Bobby in ways that felt had been coming for a good long while. And, if Dean was honest with himself, there were traces of John in there, too. Or perhaps traces of Henry - their grandfather. The man John had been destined to be, if his dad hadn’t disappeared on him. All in all, it was a good thing. And it also left Dean and Cas with the responsibilies of hunting. With all the trepidations that entailed. Like fire arm practice and lengthy discussions about what strategy would work best in any given situation.

“Well, if there are more, you’ll find ‘em,” Dean offered Sam, deciding he absolutely wasn’t slurring his words.

Sam nodded distractedly, fingers tapping the screen. 

Dean turned back to Cas, whose eyes met his and they shared a silent exchange where they both wanted to help, knowing it was best not to until asked. It wasn’t that they were excluded, not really, but Sam had made this into something personal and they thought it was best to let him ride it out. He’d started contacting hunters as well, gathering their information together in thick files he’d stacked on one of the library tables, which had become a no-go zone. It was fine, because he had another table stacked with other files, which was where they convened to map out whatever case they needed to tackle next, or whatever road trip Dean and Cas had on the horizon.

Because they’d stopped just waiting for cases to land at their feet. They’d started actually hunting for them, driving through towns looking for telltale signs, hoping to stop any shenanigans before the death toll had even really begun ticking. They’d started getting good at it in the past month and had intercepted a gang of vamps just as they were settling into a nest in upstate Ohio. 

“What’s on your mind?” Cas asked, getting Dean to focus on him.

Dean was about to reply when he noticed Cas using a cloth to polish an already polished glass, eyeing him intently, and Dean smirked, realising that Cas was playing the confessional bartender. Was he? Did he play? Was this how they did things ever? 

There was a reckless carelessness in Dean’s chest, spreading into his limbs, making the urge to reach out and touch Cas’ exposed wrist, run fingertips over his tanned skin, curl his fingers to feel the muscles of his upper arm and pull him closer, lean him forward until they were nose to nose, yeah, all that right now felt like it wouldn’t only be acceptable behavior, but it would be welcomed, even. 

Dean’s pulse picked up a few beats.

“What’s on my mind is I’m wondering what color the next drink’s gonna be,” he replied, still smirking, holding Cas’ eyes without causing Cas to miss a single beat.

He never missed a single beat. Steady as the beating fucking drum. Fucker.

“Did you know that one of the first saloons was established in Abilene, Kansas?” Cas asked, hands busy preparing something Dean couldn’t quite see. “Well, it was,” Cas said, eyes on the task at hand, Dean left with eyes roving his downturned profile. “And a saloon, typically, served whisky or, more typically, home-brewed beer, because most saloons were owned by the brewery attached to them. So,” he said, eyes suddenly in Dean’s and Dean straightened up a little, realising he was slouching against the bartop, unabashedly staring, “no colorful drinks in Abilene.”

And with that he set a simple glass in front of Dean, filled with amber liquid.

Dean frowned at it.

“A little bourbon,” Cas clarified.

Dean smiled wide, Cas smiling as well, eyes on the counter in front of him, not looking at Dean, and was that a sign of self-conscious control or was it something else entirely? It didn’t matter.

Dean reached for the glass, fingertips just grazing it when a tiny umbrella was unceremoniously dropped into it, creating a blue lid for the glass that made Dean give it, and then Cas, raised eyebrows in another _really?_ \- but Cas merely mirrored it: he wasn’t kidding around with the decorations. 

It made warmth spread from Dean’s centre out to the tips of his toes and fingers and the roots of his hair and goosebumps followed and he swallowed, shaking his head a little.

“Better stop looking at me like that, dude, or I’m gonna get ideas,” he said, surprised at how easy the words left his mouth.

Cas looked wholly innocent as he replied with a:

“What?”

But there was something there. Some tense demand that made Dean’s mouth dry up with sudden hopeful anticipation, overwhelming in how immediate it was. It didn’t mean anything at all, it was just a word, and Dean tried to tell himself he was adding meaning because he fucking wanted it there, but his logic was too switched off to have even the smallest impact, and the lustful yearning had been given a helluva lot of freedom in the past few hours, and he felt in his bones that it was much too late for second guesses. He was swatting at them to go the fuck away, even as they formed.

So he looked Cas in the eye with a lopsided smile on his mouth, just to see what the reaction would be saying:

“Why don’t you come on over here and I’ll show you?”

Cas tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, frowning at him.

“Why would I need to do that?” he asked and Dean’s heart started crawling into his throat, but then Cas took his eyes out of his and a lopsided smile to rival Dean’s showed up on his handsome fucking face and instead of settling in his throat, Dean’s heart plunged into his stomach.

Losing his breath, Dean grabbed the glass, picking out the umbrella and - without really contemplating the choice - deciding to stick it behind one ear before knocking the bourbon back in one big swallow, barely feeling the burn as he slammed the glass down and got to his feet. Walking around the counter he stepped around Cas, close, hand dragging across the small of his back as he settled next to him, the touch so brief it didn’t really count as invading Cas’ personal space, not really, but it made Dean’s skin tingle with expectation.

“I wanna make one,” he said. “I wanna make a - what was it…? A _pink grapefruit_ one and I want it pink. _Really_ fucking pink. Like bright, _bright_ pink.”

Cas nodded, eyes in his and so fucking close and Dean wanted more than ever to just lean in, catch those lips, taste and tease, but Cas was moving away, starting to gather up the necessary ingredients. Dean leaned one hip against the low counter behind the bartop, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Cas’ back, eyes sliding down to his ass, in those damn jeans, and popping right back up to face-level when Cas turned around.

“It’ll be sweet,” he said and Dean knew what expression placed itself on his own face and he couldn’t quite get rid of the smile, jerking up the left side of his mouth, or the agreement he could feel placing itself in his eyes as he tried and failed spectacularly to come up with a response to Cas’ statement that wasn’t three shades perfect revelation of the graphic thoughts running through his head of what exactly it was that would be sweet.

“Yeah,” was all he could finally think to cover up with and the sound of it was so punctuated with longing that he was shocked that Cas didn’t offer one of those frowns of his, showing that he was most certainly picking up on Dean acting weird as fuck, but that he didn’t know why and that he was about to say as much.

“Do you mind?” he asked instead, coming back up to the counter with a bottle of bright red something, squatting down to get the lighter pink grapefruit bottle out of the fridge. “If it’s sweet?” Cas clarified when Dean stood dumb and staring. “I guess we could put some gin in there. Give it some kick.”

“Yeah, we could,” Dean agreed, pausing as he could almost taste that word he’d just spoken.

He’d said it with such simplicity, in the moment - that two letter word speaking the truth of what they were - but then he thought that Cas had said it first, just as easily, it had just come out of his mouth like he thought of them as an us, a we, like it was such a normal thought that he used it that freely, almost like it was meaningless at this point.

When did that happen? 

Dean began growing aware of his wandering mind and he blamed the drinks entirely and in self-defense he chastised Cas, with a frown, saying:

“You’ve not drunken anything.”

“That’s because I’m the barkeep,” Cas replied, smiling again, and just like that his hand was against Dean’s cheek, keeping his head steady as his other hand slipped a second umbrella in place, this one behind Dean’s left ear.

Dean swallowed, eyes resting in Cas’ for a moment that felt like it contained many moments just like it, like those moments had built, one ontop of the other, stretching between them, even when they’d been brought far apart, and no matter how thinly stretched they’d become, they’d never even come close to warping or fading. They’d brought them back together again. These moments were what had kept them together, even when they were apart, Dean could see that clear as day.

“But,” Cas said, touch removed as he turned back to the task at hand, “if you make me a drink, I’m gonna have to taste it. Won’t I?”

Dean snapped himself out of it, picking up the red bottle with a nod, reaching for the pink as well, facing the slender glasses Cas had placed on the counter and pausing, bottle in either hand, feeling Cas’ eyes observing him intently.

“So, you just… add a little of this and then a little of… that,” he said, glancing at Cas, whose face wasn’t moving a single muscle. “Right?” he added.

“Would you like me to tell you, or do you wanna wing it?” Cas replied, one eyebrow quirking slightly and Dean smirked, even as the thought of Cas telling him what to do was making him feel overheated, or was that the proximity he’d been hungering after all evening?

Dean’s eyes roamed Cas’ face, already knowing every curve and detail, thinking back to those first times that they interacted and the fearful fascination he’d felt, the absolute need to knock this powerful being down a peg or two, refusing to take any kind of order from him until it was life-or-death necessary and even then relenting with the greatest reluctancy, internally rejecting the idea of giving himself over wholly to anyone, especially a group of celestial dicks dicking him around like he’d been made for it. And then came that night, in that white room, where he’d smashed a white little figurine before confronting this awesome force of nature, or force of God, or whatever, asking him to choose. And Cas had chosen.

“I wanna wing it,” Dean replied, smiling with a cheeky glitter in his eyes and Cas tilted his head a fraction to one side at the rebellion, then smiled as well, giving a nod of approval, staying put, standing close as Dean put the bottles down and opened up the red one: cherry.

He poured himself a taster, taking a mouthful of the unfamiliar liquid and making a face as the concentrated flavor hit the back of his tongue.

“Yeah, probably just a splash of that one,” he said and suddenly he felt Cas’ shoulder bump against his as Cas shifted on his feet, closing the gap, that had remained between them, under the pretext of keeping an even closer eye on exactly what Dean thought he was doing.

Dean turned his head and his nose almost brushed Cas’ temple as Cas was leaning forward, squinting at the emptied glass.

“Don’t waste it,” Cas reproached, turning his head to Dean and he was so close Dean leaned back in spite of himself, leaned back when what he wanted to do was grab Cas and pry his lips apart with his tongue and swirl the residual taste of cherry through Cas’ mouth and not waste any of it, let Cas go and tell him he was only doing what he’d instructed.

He was growing increasingly aware of Cas’ shoulder pressing into his, of Cas’ choice to bring reciprocated touching into a scenario where previously there’d been none, and the possibilites were practically blinding.

It felt like there were invisible threads of electricity hanging in the air between them and Dean would be damned if he was the only one who put them there, but he wanted to stay in this uninterrupted state of growing conviction, and any sudden movement would most likely create a current that would take them in an entirely new direction and he didn’t want to invoke the change. He wanted to stay right here, eyes locked, each breath full of maybes and why nots. It was addictive.

So instead of moving, he merely smiled blithely, putting the bottle down and reaching for the pink grapefruit, putting a splash into the glass and downing it in one swallow, smacking his tongue contentedly and feeling Cas’ hand place itself lightly against his waist, pushing him to take a step to the side, make room, and the softly guiding sensation made Dean do as asked while wanting Cas to keep touching him, wanting Cas to keep his hand against the fabric of his T-shirt, let his body heat seep through it and feed the tingling awareness in Dean’s skin.

But Cas didn’t, and now there was a space between them again. A frustrating, stupid fucking space that wasn’t supposed to be there, but Dean let go of the urge to lean right back into Cas' shoulder, keeping his focus on his measuring, wondering if his concentration was doing things to Cas the way Cas’ concentration had done things to him and the thought made his cock respond in ways it really shouldn’t, not if Dean wanted to keep this subtle exchange between them unchanged, and so he switched his weight from foot to foot, saying:

“I can’t do this with you staring.”

Cas didn’t even offer up a protest, merely threw both hands up in a submissive gesture as he backed off, but Dean knew there was a smile there, and he was sure it was a smug one, and he was still unclear when exactly Cas had begun to misbehave, but he was. He was fucking misbehaving. Because he rounded the bar and took Dean’s previous seat, leaning unabashedly against the bartop, replicating Dean’s previous level of interest for what he was doing. It really was starting to go to Dean’s head. All of it. His fingers were trembling.

“You okay there?” Cas asked in a maddeningly casual way, unaffected as all hell.

Fucker.

“I’m fine,” Dean replied, refusing to look up from what his hands were occupied with, which allowed some sort of relaxation as he started to focus more on the mixing of colors and alcohol than he did on what Cas was or wasn’t doing.

A splash of cherry. Two thirds pink grapefruit. A good stir created a truly deep pink concoction and one third gin added the needed kick and there. Done. Except for the final thing. He procured a slice of lemon, grabbed one of the discarded umbrellas - remembering he still had fucking umbrellas stuck behind his ears and honestly not giving a fuck - poking the yellow umbrella through the lemon, which was weirdly satisfactory, securing the decoration to the glass and placing his creation in front of Cas with a wide smile and a ta-da gesture that made Cas mirror his smile.

Dean tried to keep his expectant eagerness down, but he was actually curious to know what Cas thought. He had a notion his frame of mind was shining out of his eyes because Cas reached for the glass with a soft chuckle that made Dean weak in the fucking knees and then Cas had a mouthful, tasting, looking up at Dean with another smile as he swallowed and licked his lips.

“Mh,” he hummed, making Dean feel the need to move, so he reached for the glass.

“I wanna try,” was all he had time to say before the glass was brought out of his reach and Cas was frowning, shaking his head, having another big mouthful that made Dean laugh from the bottom of his belly and Cas joined in once he’d swallowed again, both of them ending up grinning, but Dean couldn’t keep eye contact, he started putting back bottles and cleaning away the lemon and getting everything back in the order Cas had put it earlier. 

“Make me another one,” Cas said, glass already half empty and Dean smirked sideways, shaking his head.

“Not gonna get you drunk, man. Don’t want you falling over when I beat your ass,” he replied steadily, truly not meaning for that to sound as dirty as it did and feeling heat rise beneath his skin for the umpteenth time, but keeping his eyes in Cas’, thinking maybe this one would just slip by him.

Cas glanced at the foosball table, smiling into the glass before he took the last few swallows, jumping off the barstool and leaving the glass on the bartop.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said, pausing when he realised his brother had left the room.

“I think he decided to go to bed,” Cas said, head turned to Dean and catching Dean’s eye in a way that made that sentence sound dirtier than what Dean had just insinuated.

The heat returned full force and Dean smiled to cover it up, getting two whisky glasses out and popping the cork of the bottle of one of his favourite brands, pouring them a generous helping each and almost taking a deep swig out of the bottle, but stopping himself with a clearing of his throat, putting the bottle down and grabbing the glasses as he headed over to where Cas was standing, readying himself for battle by stretching out his back, making his shirt ride up in ways that should require prior warning and Dean brought his glass to his mouth, taking a thirsty mouthful as he handed the other glass to Cas, possibly to make him stop what he was doing.

It worked and the tautness of stomach and flash of skin disappeared and Dean immediately regretted being such a momentary needy mess that he’d thought to censor himself from feeling that rush of desire, that urge to kneel down and make certain Cas had absolutely no doubt about whether Dean was ready to give himself over. Wholly.

His fingers were trembling again.

“Music,” he declared, leaving his glass balancing precariously on the corner of the foosball table before he walked across the room to where a record player was front and center, sitting on a shelf surrounded by neatly ordered records that Dean had been collecting ever since they moved into the bunker.

In fact, whenever he and Cas did a longer trip, if they happened upon some backwater second hand barn or a smaller yardsale they’d more often stop than continue on their journey, finding other reasons like wanting a coffee or to stretch their legs like an unspoken acknowledgement of how both of them knew exactly how much they truly enjoyed looking through discarded things. 

Cas bought books for himself and he’d bought a big wooden chest a few weeks back, which had proven a pain to get into Baby’s backseat without damaging the upholstery - they’d ended up buying five blankets just to have some sort of protection - but it was now stood against one of his bedroom walls, hosting a bunch of second hand clothes he’d also found for himself.

Dean’s fingers flicked through the records and paused at the beloved Zeppelin section, glancing over at Cas, who was sipping his whisky, waiting, and deciding not to. In fact, he knew which record he wanted and he knew where it was, flicking back six records at once and pulling out a very tattered sleeve, letting the record slide out into his hand and placing it on the turntable. Pink Floyd. _A Saucerful of Secrets_. Cas had bought it for him on their third hunt together. He’d handed it over without any ado and simply said:

“It’s a gift.”

Dean smiled now, remembering, as the first notes of the album’s first track filled the room.

“I like this one,” Cas said from his place by the foosball table and Dean didn’t turn around, sliding the record sleeve back in place for no particular reason as he replied:

“I know.”

He turned up the volume, then changed his mind, turning it down for background music and heading back into his friend’s closer vicinity, sharing an easy smile with him while his mind had started to race with the idea of the reality of this, of the open reciprocation of his flirting, which could just be teasing, but seemed too deliberate, too filled with challenge to be anything but a poke for an actual reaction. The touching and the deadpan commentary and the lingering eyecontact and the touching. And he’d played so fast and loose with the idea of seducing Cas that he hadn’t even noticed when Cas began seducing him. Was he being seduced? 

The adrenaline in his veins was helping to sober him up at an alarming rate and with it came nerves that were beginning to knot together and he forcibly pushed the calamity of old insecurities to the very back of his consciousness and reminded himself that the past was the past. This was right now and he wasn’t going to wonder what it all meant or could mean or should mean. He knew what it meant to him, that’s the only thing he could know, and right now all that mattered was beating Cas’ ass at foosball.

That made him take the spot opposite Cas wearing a smile that was confident in his ability to do just that, Cas arching one eyebrow, finally producing a _really?_ of his own as he grasped one of the handles and Dean stared at the gripping fingers and the soft roll of Cas’ wrist and the yearning was growing into a dull ache. He didn’t even hear when Cas let go of the ball he’d held hovering over the middle of the table and when Cas scored within a minute Dean realised he had to get a fucking hold of himself or he was gonna lose and lose big and he’d never hear the end of it. He’d been too cocky every time he’d won. It’d be like the spilt coffee all over again and fuck if that back and forth was anywhere near to dying down.

Cas wasn’t making it any better, smiling as he retrieved the ball, but when he threw it in the air, catching it with a tilt of the head, that teasing gesture made Dean feel a new kind of focus take over completely. And Cas mirrored him perfectly as their eyes locked and Cas reached his hand out again, letting the ball drop for the second round. 

Dean won; he was cocky about it.

The next two rounds, however, Cas showed some moves that were so surprising Dean started to suspect he’d been practicing. Most likely with Mary. She was fiercly competitive and fucking relentlessly consistently good at this game and he recognised some of her favourite game changers, but when Cas scored his third point, let go of his handles and started doing the stupidest dance Dean had ever seen in his entire life, everything else faded away as he tilted his head back a tad and feigned detachment at what he was witnessing.

“You gonna do that every time?” he asked pointedly, almost ready to lose the game so that he could watch Cas do that with every new goal. 

Cas stopped, his raised arms dropping, but he was still smiling.

“Better believe it,” he said - cockily - and Dean laughed then.

There was more of that to come. Laughter and friendly competition as they stayed neck and neck. Dean scoring twice, then Cas twice, then Dean managed to block the ball so perfectly it shot clear across the table and straight into Cas’ goal, making Dean grab the cocktail umbrellas from behind his ears, raising them over his head and twirling them in silent victory, broad smile on, and Cas’ expression became something quietly intense. Dean tossed the umbrellas to break the tension, having a thought that made him slam his hands onto the side of the foosball table in a quick drumbeat before he said:

“I know what we need.”

He headed to the space behind the barcounter, sensing Cas’ eyes following him.

“Refills?” Cas wondered.

Dean kneeled down to open a cabinet and grab what he was hunting for as he replied:

“Yeah, sure, absolutely, a hundred percent, but also…”

He was smiling as he got to his feet, turning around and finding himself face to face with Cas, who had followed him, and was close again. Very close. 

Cas’ eyes drifted to the bag of nuts in Dean’s hands and Dean smiled, about to make a crack about them being salty, when Cas reached out and took the bag out of his grasp, putting it firmly on the counter, eyes lingering in Dean’s.

Dean stared right back, head filling with cotton. His gaze drifted to Cas’ mouth, and Cas smiled then, the smallest of smiles.

It was encouragement enough.

Dean reached out, hand going to the side of Cas’ head, fingers digging into his neck, thumb pressing into that spot behind his ear as he pulled Cas to him and got rid of that infuriating space between them, Dean stepping forward at the same time, crashing them together, mouth finding mouth.

There were mutual intakes of breath and Cas’ hands moving up to cradle the back of Dean’s head, holding onto him, pressing him closer, Dean parting his lips to tease the question and when Cas didn’t even hesitate to follow the movement Dean made a soft noise against Cas’ mouth that made Cas’ hold tighten.

The kiss deepened as Dean’s arms circled Cas’ waist and Dean tasted traces of whisky and something entirely Cas and his hands clasped the back of Cas’ shirt in fistfuls, amazed at the way Cas responded to him, shook by the way he was responding to Cas, because the desire was surprisingly softened by having the need for proximity met and instead of his hands wanting to remove the clothes that were in the way, all they wanted was to hold on, and to linger where they hadn’t been allowed to before.

So his fists slowly unclenched to run flattened palms up Cas’ strong back, feeling his shoulder blades flex as Cas moved his hands in turn, running them down Dean's neck, skirting over his shoulders, landing on either side of his face only for his touch to slide away as Cas' arms went around his neck again, pulling himself impossibly closer, standing chest to chest, both of them relishing in the sensation of their tongues dancing, unhurriedly, the moment stretching itself sweetly.

But then Dean ran his touch back down to the curve of Cas’ hips and traced lines with his fingers until he could gently hook them into the belt hoops of Cas’ jeans and perhaps he’d known it would, or perhaps it was a completely innocent acting out on a fantasty, but the movement made both of them aware of exactly how turned on they were as focus was brought from kissing to a soft and sudden friction.

They broke the kiss, both pulling back, foreheads resting together, breaths caressing breaths as their lips weren’t sated, but they needed to take stock. For a moment. Dean had to be sure.

“I mean,” he murmured, “you sure you—?”

Cas kissed him then, deeply, harshly, unapologetically, to shut him the fuck up and to answer the unfinished question. 

Then Cas pulled back with a careful movement and placed a long and gentle kiss on Dean’s mouth, lips soft. He did it again, his hands moving to the back of Dean’s neck and Dean surrendered to Cas’ need completely, eyes closed and breathless as Cas began to take control, hands moving down Dean’s arms to his wrists, bringing Dean’s right hand forward, pressing himself against it so Dean could feel his excitement and when Dean flattened his palm against the crotch of Cas' jeans Cas gave the most low-throated moan Dean had ever heard in his life. It set a fire in Dean’s veins and he buried his nose in Cas’ neck without barely being able to think anymore.

The world was sensation and fuck if he wasn’t happy to get lost in it.

Dean moved them until Cas was leaned against the slender barcounter and Dean was leaning his full weight on Cas, Dean’s hand still teasing, rubbing rough lines against Cas’ already hard dick and Cas letting out satisfactorily shallow puffs of breath against his ear before speaking his name and Dean removed his hand, fitting himself against Cas to seek relief for his own straining hard-on instead, Cas seeking purchase with his ass against the counter before wrapping his legs around the back of Dean’s, pushing him closer while their foreheads connected. The mounting urgency began to calm, soft hums escaping Cas whenever Dean moved gently against him, Dean’s whole body thrumming at the sound of it, at the longing for release, that ache and still he wanted it like this; slowly, slowly.

But.

Clothes should come off.

He reached up for the top button of Cas’ shirt, undoing it with steady fingers, moving onto the second as he ended the kissing and dragged his lips along Cas’ stubbled jaw line, reaching Cas’ ear, dipping down and nibbling softly at the spot just below it, Cas murmuring something Dean didn’t catch as Dean’s fingers worked the third button and Cas’ hands slid through his hair, sending goosebumps in a cascading sensation down Dean’s neck and over his shoulders. Dean reciprocated by kissing his way down Cas’ throat, their hands colliding when Cas’ more eager fingers started working on the sixth button while Dean was still getting the fifth one undone. Dean smiled then, pulling back to look at Cas, taking in swollen lips and eyes that were dazed with want in a way that seemed to stop time.

They stared at each other and that moment joined the other moments between them and fuck if it wasn’t all for a reason, if it wasn’t all for this moment, if it wasn’t all for this man, for this feeling, for this giving himself up and letting the rest go. Fuck if it wasn’t all that really mattered.

And they moved at the same time, lips meeting with matched hunger as Dean pushed the shirt off Cas’ shoulders, getting it off him before Cas reached back and tucked at the fabric of Dean’s T-shirt. Cas pulled it over Dean’s head as Dean raised his arms, the piece of clothing discarded and Dean’s hands on either side of Cas’ face as they kissed, fervent and needful, half-naked and not naked enough, Dean’s mouth on Cas’ neck again, on his shoulder, along his collar bone, wet marks and Cas’ teeth on his earlobe and groans and fingers grasping for the buttons of jeans that needed to not be there at all already.

They’d both managed to step out of their shoes when Dean got Cas’ button undone first and yanked his jeans down so harshly it made Cas complain at the rough treatment, but Dean had sunk to his knees with the movement and didn’t hesitate before he buried his face in warm, silken, heated skin and Cas grew quiet, head tilting back, fingers clutching at the edge of the bar counter.

Dean parted his lips to give his full attention to Cas’ balls, one hand circling Cas' cock, moving up, making Cas swear under his breath and Dean smiled as he continued to tease the sensitive area with the tip of his tongue before moving to flatten it against the base of Cas’ cock, Cas drawing a sharp breath, a hand pushing fingers into Dean’s hair as Dean slowly dragged his tongue up, up to the head.

The stuttered breathing eminating from Cas was the most amazing fucking sound. It made Dean snake his hand passed his own half-open fly, wrapping his fingers around his straining erection with a soft hum as he swallowed Cas down, Cas’ fingers clenching at his short strands. Dean dragged his lips back up Cas' shaft and Cas was starting to make quiet noises of acquiescence.

Dean had the fleeting thought that all this time they’d both been waiting to wake up, too afraid to shake the other awake, thinking it would bring about an ending, rather than this, rather than them beginning. Sure sounded like he was succeeding in waking Cas up now.

Dean smiled, unable to stop himself from looking up at the heaving, gorgeous chest above him, at the soft V of Cas’ jaw line, and he said:

“You okay there?”

It made Cas tilt his head to meet his gaze and Dean’s stomach pitted out at the expression on Cas’ face.

Oh. Fuck.

And then Cas’ face was level as he sunk to his knees as well, and his mouth was on Dean’s the following second, tongue parting Dean's lips and colliding with his forcefully enough to make Dean give a surprised grunt before Cas’ weight made him fall backwards, catching himself with either hand and lowering them both to the floor, back connecting as Cas pulled away, hands pressed against Dean’s chest, eyes hooded like a warning against Dean moving or doing anything at all but lying there and Dean’s heart was a piston hammering, hammering in his chest as Cas rocked back on his heels, cock hard against his stomach, jeans still around his knees, hands determined as they pulled off Dean’s socks - one by one - before grasping the hem of Dean’s jeans and making a quick job of pulling them and his underwear off and throwing both aside before he pushed up on muscular thighs and removed his own jeans as well.

Dean’s mouth was slightly agape and he felt something akin to worship and Cas smiled down at him, but that warning was still there and Dean adhered. Waiting. Hands itching to trace over skin or to reach for his own cock, head slick with precum. It gave a twitch in expectancy at the mere thought. 

Cas’ eyes left Dean’s, gliding over him without appraisal and even without curiosity; there was nothing in his expression but arousal and gentle, but clear, possessiveness. Dean recognised it because he felt it. Felt that growing urge to leave a mark somehow, to tell the world that they belonged to each other. Fuck.

Cas sunk to his knees again, eyes on Dean’s cock and Dean reached for it, but Cas slapped his hand away before he reached out and carefully traced his fingertips along the shaft. Dean sucked in a breath and Cas’ eyes met his, his fingers circling the head, Dean’s hips bucking up, searching for something more satisfactory than the too soft treatment and Cas granted it as he wrapped his hand around the head and firmly glided his grasp down, Dean arching his back into the touch with a groan that should’ve made him embarrassed, his palms pressing into his eyes, mouth open, and then the sensation of Cas’ mouth following in the wake of the grip, tongue circling the head once before taking him in made Dean clench his jaws to stifle the profanities.

Cas’ free hand traced up his chest and one of his own met it, linking their fingers together in a tight grip, Dean’s mouth falling open again as he said Cas’ name, like a prayer laced with welcomed blasphemy and he smiled in the middle of all the pleasure, his free hand in Cas’ hair, stroking down to his shoulder, kneading along the shoulder blade, his mind nothing but colors.

He wanted…

He pulled on the hand he was holding, Cas’ mouth leaving his cock with a soft sucking noise that made him tug harder until Cas’ lips were his to claim and the kiss was hard and frantic, their cocks finding friction against skin and they were panting and Dean wanted…

“I want…” he said, a hand gliding down to Cas’ asscheek, grabbing it greedily as they thrust against each other in unison. “I want you…” he gasped, Cas’ mouth kissing haphazard patterns against his neck and Dean moaned: “I want you inside me.”

Cas pulled back, their eyes meeting, Cas searching his face.

“Yes,” Cas said and Dean felt relief without realising there’d been sudden trepedation that he was crossing a line way too soon.

“You sure?” Dean asked and Cas gave him a look that made Dean gently push him aside and get to his feet, Cas staring at him in surprised dismay. “Lube,” Dean explained, grabbing his discarded jeans and balling them up against his rockhard cock as he left the room as quickly as he could in his current state.

Thank Christ no one was staying at the bunker except for Sam. The rest of the gaggle were all out working or doing research, and as far as Dean knew, Sam would have no reason to roam the hallways. He’d be in his room, headphones on, nose stuck to his iPad if he knew what was best for him. Dean rounded a third corner, getting his bedroom door in sight and exhaled as the coast was clear. 

Good. 

He entered and went straight for his bedside table, pulling the drawer out with the impressions of the past twenty minutes running through his head like a goddamn parade of wish fulfilment and was Cas actually about to fuck him and he had lube but no condoms but he was clean and he knew Cas was and what the fuck and what if Cas was in that room right now changing his mind and Dean would come back and find it empty but no, because he still had the taste of Cas in his mouth and that fact made any worry seem small and irrational and he grasped the bottle of lube just as his door closed behind him and he turned his head in alarm, relaxing when his eyes landed on Cas. 

The thought of Cas striding through the hallways stark naked with nothing but his own rolled up jeans covering his junk and with the sole aim of reaching Dean’s room made Dean’s slightly flagging hard-on return to its former glory without need for further coaxing and he smiled wide, tossing the lube onto the bed and letting his jeans drop to the floor just as Cas tossed his aside as well, his gaze heated, approaching, broad and imposing and perfectly fucking breathtaking and in the next moment they were skin to skin, lips to lips, hands trailing up arms and down backs like it was all they’d ever done.

Cas’ hands grabbed Dean’s ass and Dean wrapped his arms around his neck, one leg linking around one of Cas’ thighs and they practically tipped themselves onto the bed, both bursting out into hoarse laughter, but Dean wrapped both legs around Cas and their chuckling soon turned into breaths that came out as half moans and Cas kissed Dean as Dean grabbed for the bottle with one hand, the other reaching for Cas’ cock and Cas pulled back, eyes on Dean’s face as Dean lubed him up, out of breath with want, Cas’ lips tracing his cheekbone and he felt like pushing away the sentiment, even as it made warmth spread in his chest.

“Dean,” Cas said softly, eyes in his.

“Just go slow,” Dean said, tracing a generous amount of lube around his rim, pushing against it briefly, moving his head forward to suck Cas’ bottom lip in between his, Cas’ tongue tracing against his upper lip until he opened up and let Cas lick slowly, tongue meeting tongue and where the hell did he learn to kiss like this?

Dean wiped the lube off his fingers on the sheet in quick impatient rubs, before one hand guided Cas, lining him up, his other hand at Cas’ neck, grasping tightly and as Cas moved his hips forward, the head of his cock teasing Dean’s opening, Cas broke the kiss, eyes in Dean’s, big and blue. Dean stared back, keeping his breathing level as Cas entered him, pushing past muscles that changed Cas’ expression into one of slack-jawed wonder and Dean was about to smile, but the bliss that hit him the following moment interrupted him and his back began to arch and he breathed out a _Castiel_ and the sound brought Cas' lips to his.

Cas’ arms were around him, under him, and Cas was filling him up and groaning against Dean’s mouth and Dean swore and then Cas smothered his words with another kiss, Dean’s legs folded, calves guiding Cas with slight pressure, urging him on until he was buried to the hilt and they broke the kiss, breathless, their eyes locking.

Cas tentatively began to move, pulling out an inch before thrusting even deeper and Dean had to dig his head back into the pillows, his entire body one raw point of pleasure as Cas’ thrusts began to find a rhythm, Dean’s eyes in his again as he reached one hand for his own cock, knowing Cas wouldn’t last long, could see it in his eyes and knew from his own experience that the tight heat would drive Cas over the edge fast. 

One of Dean’s hands went to Cas’ cheek, thumb running along Cas’ cheekbone in a rough stroke of encouragement, Cas’ soft noises sounding almost laced with disbelief and there was nothing short of glassy awe in his eyes and Dean had never seen anything like it, had never felt anything like this before and the orgasm hit him.

It spread its pleasure like a glittering bruise through his entire body just as Cas’ moans deepened and his thrusts grew harsher and borderline desparete for further friction and his mouth found Dean’s, Dean wrapping his arms around him, kissing him back, riding the high with him as Cas peaked into an orgasm that made his body quake in Dean’s embrace and Dean felt the urge to hold onto him, keep him together and still enjoying the flutter of happiness at how Cas was coming apart so entirely, small moans still leaving him, even as he came off the high and his movements began to slow. Finally he grew too sensitive, pulling out and knocking his forehead against Dean’s as they both struggled to catch their breath, chest to chest, before Cas, placing one last kiss on Dean’s lips, reluctantly rolled to the side.

There was a stretch of silence that felt relaxed, almost drained of all energy, restful. 

Then Cas said:

“Holy fuck.”

It sounded like a statement and Dean’s mouth tugged into a broad smile as he turned his head to him, Cas meeting his gaze, and they huffed a laugh at the same time. 

Dean was smirking when he pushed himself up on one elbow and reached over Cas for the edge of the sheet, pulling on it so that he could wipe off the sleekness of his own cum, smeared all over Cas’ chest. He wiped himself down as well, but Cas reached up a hand, tracing it down Dean’s chest, thumbing his left nipple, looking concentrated again as he slid his fingers in the traces of wetness and then brought his fingers to his mouth, making Dean stare at him.

“I thought it would be saltier,” he said, so matter-of-fact that Dean burst out laughing, throwing himself on top of him and kissing him, slow and soft.

A bit too slow and too soft, if he was honest with himself, and he pulled back a little, for the first time self-conscious, but Cas rested his eyes in his in the quiet of the room and Dean felt a sense of safety spread through him that made him quickly kiss the tip of Cas’ nose before rolling off him, glancing over and seeing an incredulous smile on Cas’ face that made Dean smile as well, Cas’ fingers grasping his hand in a tight grip and he closed his eyes, for some reason relieved again.

“I’m thirsty,” Cas said and then he was out of bed, Dean opening his eyes to watch him bend down and grab his jeans off the floor, Dean making a soft noise at the back of his throat that was a mix of contrition and rekindled want as Cas jumped into them, his ass disappearing from view under blue denim. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he was gone.

Dean’s eyes lingered on the door for a minute, waiting, but his lids began to grow heavy and his brain was floating in the sweetest afterglow and he was just going to rest for a minute, and he found himself walking slowly down a path to a house with a yellow door and there was the smell of coffee and he knew Cas had prepared it and that he was inside, expecting him, and he hurried his step when there was a tickle by his left brow and he began to come out of the dream to the sensation of something slender and pointy, like a toothpick, being gently dragged over the skin of his cheek, past his jaw line, down his chest…

“Don’t go to sleep,” Cas whispered in his ear, lips nearly brushing sensitive skin, and Dean felt goosebumps spread all over as the pointy thing reached his right nipple, circled it and then pressed carefully into the hardening bud at the center.

Dean opened his eyes to look at what the hell it was, letting out a chuckle at the sight of the small, purple cocktail umbrella, rolled up and pinched between Cas’ fingers. It was the umbrella that had been tucked behind Dean’s left ear, the one Cas had added, Dean remembered.

Dean ran his fingers up along Cas’ spine, realising Cas was still wearing his jeans and frowning a little at him, which made a rather devilish grin place itself on Cas’ face, as though he delighted in the fact that Dean wanted those fucking jeans off him, and for some reason it made Dean flush hot, even after everything they’d just done, and then Cas moved, lifting himself to sink between Dean’s spreading legs and Dean reached down, unbottoning the jeans, not wanting the roughness of the fabric to rub against his hardening cock, wanting better things to rub against it and a cheeky grin appeared as he shimmied his legs to get the jeans down Cas’ thighs far enough that they weren’t in the way, his hands moving around to Cas’ ass, pushing their cocks together, grinding his hips into Cas’ and making his mouth fall open, producing that low throated moan that Dean knew would probably never seize to drive him out of his head with need. 

Cas kicked off the jeans and they were less tentative this time, both of them. Knowing what to expect and knowing more of what to do and knowing how good it had already been on just their first try, their second time became a quick, sweaty, unrestrained give and take and a moment before Dean was about to reach for himself, Cas did it for him, and once they lay panting next to each other, Dean smiled at the spreading contentment. Jesus. Why hadn’t they done this ages ago?

He turned his head to Cas who had closed his eyes and Dean observed his profile, thinking that no, they couldn’t have done this ages ago. How could they have? They’d come close a few times but something always managed to get in the way. Misunderstandings and choices and Cas dying. 

Dean felt something cold place itself in his chest, like a pebble of misgivings, but then Cas’ hand found his again, in that tight hold, and the pebble got washed away like it was nothing, just an insignificant irritant. And he was apparently going to be that guy that enjoys hand-holding from now on and he was fine with it. He was so gleefully fine with it that he rolled over, draping a leg and an arm over Cas, nuzzling his face into the side of his throat with a small smile, waiting for the reaction. 

All he got was Cas’ arm lazily wrapping itself around his shoulders, pulling him closer, Cas' other hand tracing fingertips up the arm draped over him, slowly painting circles. It was almost terribly nice. Dean drew a soft breath of that scent, warm and musky and near, absentmindedly moving the tip of his nose in tandem with Cas’ touch, but then he grew aware of something poking into his hip and he shifted, reaching around and fishing out the small umbrella that had, by some miracle, stayed unsnapped and whole. He pushed it to unfold, looking at the flowerpattern on the thin paper, frowning softly.

“Did you seriously get out of bed just to get this?” he asked.

“No,” Cas replied. “I got a water bottle and our clothes. That,” Cas said with a nod to the umbrella, “was caught in your T-shirt.”

Dean lifted his head to look at the floor where the rest of their clothes were indeed lying in a heap, his eyes catching sight of the big, half-empty water bottle standing on his desk, then realising what the clothes and umbrella actually represented he turned his attention back to Cas.

“You tidied?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cas said simply.

Dean’s frown deepened.

“Why?” he queried. 

“I went to get the water and I thought I’d bring our clothes here,” Cas replied, frowning as well, Dean sitting up, feeling a stir of unwarranted insecurity and being helpless against it. “You’re upset,” Cas stated and when Dean looked back at him the lingering frown made him understand there was a question there.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean said, lifting a shoulder in as innocent a shrug as he could. “Maybe it feels a bit like you were cleaning away the evidence.”

Cas pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, observing him intently. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just… you know,” he said, searching for the words and having a sneaking suspicion that he was behaving like an idiot. “Making sure Sam doesn’t walk in and puts two and two together or something, but I can’t think of a better way for him to find out because— what's with the smile, dude?”

“Sam’s already well aware, Dean,” Cas replied, looking irritatingly full of himself as he relaxed back into the pillows before twirling the little umbrella idly, but meaningfully, in one hand.

Dean stared at it, then at Cas.

“Yeah, like you'd learn to mix drinks to get in my pants,” Dean said with a huff.

“You forget I’ve observed you for a long time,” Cas replied savagely. “I know exactly what your type is.”

That made Dean laugh again, and he moved to lie on top of Cas with a warm exclamation of “Fuck you!” before kissing him to underline it, Cas’ arms going around him in a tight hold until Dean pulled back mumbling:

“Where’s it?” 

Cas searched through the sheet with one hand and retrieved the umbrella, handing it over, still folded out.

Dean considered, then he reached up and unceremoniously capsized it on the shelf above his bed. 

And there it stayed for a good long while, moved around, but always present and though neither of them knew it now, in ten years time that umbrella was going to be lovingly wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a small velvet box and presented to Cas as an anniversary gift. One that had them both smiling in private recognition of the importance of not fucking around with the cocktail decorations.


End file.
